


Free Fallin'

by oxygenlove



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-11 14:25:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11716236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxygenlove/pseuds/oxygenlove
Summary: Do Kyungsoo has never missed the Department of Arts and Music’s quarterly recital to watch Kim Jongin dance. One day, he finally decides to approach him.





	Free Fallin'

**Author's Note:**

> **Written for:** [EXO University 2016 Round 1](http://exouniversity00.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Prompt #:** 61  
>  **Title:** Free Fallin’  
>  **Rating:** PG  
>  **Pairing:** Kai/D.O  
>  **Summary:** Do Kyungsoo has never missed the College of Arts and Music’s quarterly recital to watch Kim Jongin dance. One day, he finally decides to approach him.  
>  **Word Count:** 5,023  
>  **Author Note:** Still part of my spring cleaning. This is the shortest fic I wrote last year and _is_ the last fic I wrote last year, (actually the last fic I've written in general since I haven't written anything after this). Title from [1TYM's remake of Tom Petty's song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sSEuPZZymAM) of the same name. Unbeta'd, as usual!
> 
> [Originally posted here.](http://exouniversity00.livejournal.com/8518.html)

The problem with falling, Do Kyungsoo thinks, is that it happens abruptly, with no warning, no manual, no safety net. It happens in the blink of an eye, with a slight push, or a hard shove. One step over the edge is all it takes to lose your balance and fall to your very end.  
  
The free fall does not hurt, of course it doesn't. But the knowledge that you'll soon hit the ground as you descend keeps the hollowness in your chest occupied with fear, and your stomach crawling with anxiety. Nothing can stop your body from hurtling towards solid ground, such is the nature of gravity. And so like everything that falls, down down down you go until you can't no more.  
  
How long does it take for you to collide with the earth? And will it hurt? Will your limbs twist and tangle with the grass and will your neck break? Will your heart shatter into pieces and will your hands ever be able to pick them back up again, speck by speck by little speck?  
  
Maybe. Probably. Possibly.  
  
Kyungsoo wonders all of this in the dim theater hall, gray sweater clinging to his frame in the cold air conditioned room, barely blinking eyes focused on the lone figure moving like fluid on the stage.  
  
Kim Jongin is beautiful like this, breathtakingly so, all eyes on him as he makes art with his body, painting vibrant colors with each stroke of his brush as his limbs twist and his torso bends, as his back arches and his eyes burn, each emotion visible for all to see, for all hearts to feel. He tells stories Kyungsoo can hear across the concert hall, stories Kyungsoo can never experience, can never tell himself. And so Kyungsoo breathes each line, each color and each stroke. It makes him feel alive after a long stretch of monotonous grey and black, months in between waiting a torture for his heart, currently beating so fast, thumping wildly in his chest with each flick and slash, each twirl and each turn, exhilarating second-hand excitement running rampant in his veins. It makes Kyungsoo feel like he's finally living, finally breathing. He can’t take his eyes away.  
  
The things Kyungsoo yearns for: the harsh stage lights beating down his back like rainfall, the piercing eyes watching and judging as he moves across a stage, and the burning passion to share and translate each note to a beautiful melody–Kyungsoo wishes and wishes and wishes (and hopes) for this to be his reality. He once thought it can never be, not in this lifetime, at least. But as Kyungsoo watches, just as he has for the past two years, he lets his heart want, and for the very first time, he lets himself feel greed.  
  
Today, he will make a decision, a choice he has not been given for years.  
  
In the cold theater hall, with all lights and all eyes focused on Kim Jongin, so beautiful up on stage in his grace and ease, Do Kyungsoo hears the air whooshing past him like a whistle as he descends towards gravity, solid ground waiting below for him patiently.  
  
And down down down he goes, free falling.  
  
  
  
  
Kyungsoo first saw Kim Jongin two years ago, when he was a sophomore, and the younger a freshman.  
  
It was one very bleak Monday in August, the harsh glint of the late afternoon sun fading on the horizon as the blues turn to a gradient of reds and oranges, the gray clouds hanging in the sky as the sun dips ever so low behind Gyeonggido's skyline. It wasn't raining, but the air was humid, the clouds almost ready to cry and cleanse the earth of the day's grime, a thin sheet of soot covering every car in the university's parking lot. Summer was rarely so coy, with the sun playing hide and seek with the citizens of Ilsan, but that summer, the rain has been more frequent despite the hot weather, drizzle sizzling on the sidewalk with each intermittent downpour.  
  
That seemingly ordinary Monday afternoon, Do Kyungsoo's life takes an unexpected turn from being otherwise straightforward.  
  
Kyungsoo had never been a fan of summer but he disliked the rain just as much, when the wind would pick up and howl outside his window at night as he tries to study (Fact: Kyungsoo hates the wind, just as he does the heat.). Though, he admits, he isn't a fan of studying as well, preferring to wing it and go with the flow. Still, his parents had set high expectations for him, and as a good son, he wanted nothing more than to make them proud, his aversion for books notwithstanding.  
  
And so, with much effort and determination, he was able to survive the first year of training for his future life of work imprisonment, otherwise known as his freshman year at college. It was the only path he knew available to him, the path he could easily get into that the others around him were taking as well. The choice to take it was not a hard decision, truth be told. It was practically made for him by the given circumstances. And though his grades were just alright, nothing to write home about, he was doing okay. University classes are hard, yes, the schedule strict and the coursework heavy and loaded, Kyungsoo surviving on willpower alone but he was fine, as fine and (possibly apathetic) as can be. Often times, he would lose sleep over papers, reports piling up high on his desk but he trudged on. He knew how much money his parents are spending on his education. The least he could do is try and not disappoint them. This was the path to a future he can live, should live, and will live. He prefers to work hard rather than be an inconvenience.  
  
It was with these thoughts of the awful humid weather and the heavy burden resting on his shoulders that he half-ran across campus towards the theater hall three blocks and a turn away from his dorm, the summer air seeping into his clothes, soaking the fabric with an uncomfortable dampness with each step he took. When he arrived at the theater hall, the recital he was required to attend for a GE class had already started. The usher probably only let him in out of pity because he was panting heavily, beads of sweat running down the side of his face, the back of his shirt soaking wet and clinging to his skin. He had walked quietly inside, crouched low as he made his way to his seat at the back, the most he could afford without bothering his parents for extra cash. When he had sat down, he felt his whole body relax and sink into the plush red seat, the cold air conditioned hall lulling him to a shallow sleep.  
  
He had woken up towards the end of the first half, just before the intermission, only because the student seated next to him had elbowed him by accident. With bleary eyes, Kyungsoo had blinked around, looking why he deserved an elbow to his side, only to see all eyes glued to the stage. He could tell there was a shift in the atmosphere, the quiet audience uncharacteristically alert. It wasn’t the first time Kyungsoo had to watch a performance in the hall, his other professors requiring attendance to a few talks and some plays for extra credit his freshman year. Kyungsoo knew the default state of the audience in each of these events–sleepy. But none of the people around him then had been sleepy, all heads facing the front, eyes focused on the stage. And so Kyungsoo did as well, sitting up straighter in his seat as he leaned forward, blinking to adjust to the dim lighting of the theater. When his eyes had eventually gotten used to the dark, Kyungsoo squinted down at the stage, eyebrows drawn together, forehead scrunched in concentration to see.  
  
What Kyungsoo saw was a boy, not much older than himself, possibly younger, even. The boy was dancing.  
  
Admittedly, Kyungsoo was not an expert in dancing, and he had never thought much of it, the only move in his repertoire was the side step shuffle while clapping in time to the beat, finishing with a simple spin.  
  
But this boy, this boy was nothing like Kyungsoo had ever seen before. His moves were still a little rough, limbs flailing around as he turns and hops, jumps and splits, bends and dips. Simple steps, really. Routine anyone can perform. But this boy dances from the bridge of his neck to the tip of his toes, pointing and weaving through each beat so effortlessly. His moves weren't sharp, but each step he took was with purpose, face a blank canvas in which he paints each emotion so purely and vividly for everyone to see.  
  
Kyungsoo was captivated, and so was everyone around him.  
  
Kyungsoo may not be an expert in dancing, no, but he does not need to be one to know the perfect way to describe what he was seeing– _beautiful_. Absolutely beautiful.  
  
Kyungsoo felt something then, an unfamiliar feeling bubbling up in his chest, like a dormant desire awakening after a long and hard slumber. It was unfurling bit by bit as the song passed the second verse, and it was beginning to bloom as the song reached its climax, the sound booming like an echo all around the hall. Kyungsoo was watching, transfixed, enthralled. He was remembering what it felt like to have a dream, to have the passion to pursue a future he was looking forward to. He was remembering and he was regretting.  
  
And as he sat there, that seemingly ordinary August afternoon, the cooling sweat on his shirt uncomfortable on his back and the fatigue of the week's coursework rolling off his body in waves, Kyungsoo felt the slightest of push. It was nothing but a mere touch to his back, like a light breeze that barely skimmed his skin, but Kyungsoo felt it, felt himself lose balance, felt his world tether off and over the edge as he stumbles, careens and trips down down down.  
  
Free falling.  
  
  
  
  
(Kyungsoo belatedly realizes that the feeling in his chest that very first time he saw Jongin was envy.)  
  
  
  
  
Flower in hand, Kyungsoo shifts his weight from one foot to the other, fingers fidgeting with the one stem he could afford. He had wanted to buy a bouquet of the deepest red, had seen it in countless of movies done before, but when he asked how much a dozen costs, he scratched his neck, looked at the old ahjumma surrounded by carnations and tulips, and decides Jongin will have to be content with one long-stemmed rose.  
  
The crowd in the lobby is beginning to thin, scarves in hands and coats over arms to battle the chilly autumn wind. Kyungsoo is dwarfed by his big black coat, comfortable inside his small and warm cocoon as he stands by the street lamp post, watching the theater lobby by the curb. Kyungsoo spots Jongin with ease, eyes automatically finding the younger in a sea of people as he always does. Jongin is bowing goodbye to the other performers by the double glass doors, like he always does after these events, opting to walk home early rather than join a night of drinking to celebrate their quarterly recital’s success.  
  
Jongin is polite as he declines. No matter how they try, Jongin has never joined them but it hasn't deterred them from trying each time. Even from afar, Kyungsoo can make out the genuine apology on Jongin's face as he wraps his scarf around his neck, continuously bowing as he bid each of them goodbye.  
  
Jongin is not a boy anymore. He has grown a head and a shoulder taller than Kyungsoo from when he first saw him two years ago. His shoulders have broadened to an impressive width proportionate to his slender waist and long long legs. His stickly arms has filled out nicely too, so when he dances, Kyungsoo no longer thinks of their movement as "flail", but as "wave", every move Jongin makes exuding such regal elegance now, confidence present in every step, every reach of his arms. Jongin's dancing has grown with him over the years. Just as he has matured, his dancing has matured with him.  
  
But as he bounds ever so closer to Kyungsoo by the lamp post, his face illuminated by a mixture of moon and fluorescent light, Kyungsoo realizes that Jongin might still be a boy. There is youth in his eyes, happiness in his lips, ease in his brows while Kyungsoo looks about a hundred years old. And so he fidgets, fidgets and fidgets some more.  
  
Is Kyungsoo making the right decision? Possibly no. But it is one he has made for himself. Selfish reasons, Kyungsoo deserves them once in awhile.  
  
"Excuse me," Kyungsoo calls out, clear and quiet in the chilly midnight breeze. Jongin slows down, feet changing course as he steps towards Kyungsoo, meeting him halfway by the sidewalk. Kyungsoo's heart is hammering in his chest. "Excuse me, Kim Jongin, is it?"  
  
"Yes?" Jongin's face lights up with a smile. Kyungsoo's pulse quickens. Jongin looks exhausted but his eyes are alive, shining brighter in the dim night light. Kyungsoo decides then and there that what he's doing might not be the right decision, but he's willing to risk being wrong for the very first time in his life, if it means he gets to feel the same burning fire in his veins as Jongin does, if it means his eyes get to glow as bright as Jongin's does.  
  
"I just saw your show," Kyungsoo nods toward the theater hall, hand gripping the rose by his side. "This-" Kyungsoo presents the lone rose in his hand, the stem not as straight as when he bought it, his fingers having had pinched and bent it a few times. "-is for you. I'm a fan."  
  
Kyungsoo doesn't think it possible, but Jongin positively beams brighter as he reaches over to take the offered flower. He wishes Jongin doesn't notice the shaking of his hand and if the younger did, he doesn't mention it. Instead, he looks at the rose, eyes tender. Kyungsoo's heart swells with happiness.  
  
"Thank you," Jongin murmurs, still gazing at the rose, turning it in his fingers, admiring its beauty from every angle, the same way Kyungsoo has done to Jongin for years. Kyungsoo is glad his gesture is appreciated, his week's worth of snack money well spent. He begins to step away, about to say his goodbye when Jongin looks up and directs that tender gaze of his to Kyungsoo. "Hyung, do you want to walk home together?"  
  
Kyungsoo freezes midstep. Hyung? "Hyung?"  
  
Jongin's cheeks color a faint pink. "I mean, I figured you're older than me? No? You seem to be older. Not that I'm saying you look old! Because you totally aren't! You're actually really cu-" he cuts himself, eyes widening in alarm, "I mean, you don't look old. I just thought you might be older. Are you? Older, I mean?" His hands move in front of him as he gestures out his explanation, voice a pitch higher in slight panic. "But no, no never mind that. What I mean to ask is, do you want to walk home? With me?"  
  
Kyungsoo has heard Jongin speak before, when he pass by him talking to his friends in the corridor, when he watched him MC his Department's event last spring and when he rode the elevator with him once two summers ago. But nothing compares to hearing it up close, directed to him with a look so tender and full of gratitude.  
  
"No, no, it's alright. I'm older. I am. I'm just-"  
  
"Surprised by the sudden 'hyung'?"  
  
"Yeah," Kyungsoo laughs as he begins to walk down the sidewalk, hand hitching the strap of his backpack up a shoulder as his other reaches to rub the back of his neck in slight embarrassment. Beside him, Jongin laughs, the younger mirroring his actions, left hand rubbing the back of his own neck, one of the many habits Kyungsoo has noticed they share (whether it is because he's been watching Jongin for far too long or a coincidence, Kyungsoo is not sure).  
  
They walk in silence for a few minutes, a thousand thoughts flying in Kyungsoo's head. When he bought the rose, he only planned to hand it to Jongin, say his thanks and then spend the rest of the night wondering if he really should go through with his decision. But here he is now, walking home with Kim Jongin-the Kim Jongin. Jongin isn't a star or a campus celebrity, but enough people know him, knows of how talented he is. Unlike others though, he maintains a low profile, never attending big parties, keeping off of sns. This has led him to lose out on making major connections, both with people of power and prestige like the inner circle of campus elites (as hierarchy would have it) as well as with the rest of the student body who fawn and enjoy knowing every little detail about famous campus personalities. Kyungsoo admires Jongin for it, making Kyungsoo's fall down even faster than he first anticipated.  
  
It is when they round the corner that Kyungsoo realizes.  
  
"Wait, how do you know where I live?"  
  
Jongin falters in his steps as his cheeks take on that faint pink color for the second time tonight, "We rode the elevator once. You live a floor below me. Building 306, right?"  
  
"Yeah, I do. Floor 9. That was two years ago though, summer. I didn't think you'd remember."  
  
"Well, to be fair, I didn't think you'd remember exactly when so I guess we're even," Jongin smiles down at Kyungsoo, a teasing lilt seeping into his voice. It's Kyungsoo's cheeks' turn to redden.  
  
"I'm a fan," Kyungsoo tries to reason, and he is. He's a fan. He likes watching Kim Jongin dance, has watched him since his freshman year, has watched him grow from a boy to a man, has watched his moves improve and his passion for his craft mature with his growing experience onstage. Kyungsoo has watched and he has admired and now he has finally summoned enough courage to move beyond dreaming. "I'm a fan so of course I remember."  
  
Jongin just smiles wider, "I know. I've seen you around."  
  
"Me? Around?" Kyungsoo doesn't stand out in a crowd. He prefers to stay in the background because it's easier. It's less hassle to only deal with people he wants to deal with, rather than put himself out there for everyone to dissect and judge. It's easier but easy isn't the only option. Jongin has shown him that it's possible to both be up there and still have a space for himself, to give so much of his talent and breathe life to his art but still have his own self intact and whole. And Kyungsoo admires the younger all the more for it.  
  
"I've seen you in almost all of our shows," Jongin says, looking down at the rose in his hands, twirling the stem with his fingers. "When we do the closing, and they turn the light on the audience and dim ours. It's easy to pick you out in the crowd."  
  
Jongin says all of this with a bashful smile, his cheeks not red but the tip of his ears are. Kyungsoo thinks it's cute and endearing, and he would say so, if not for the surprise of disbelief lodged in his throat.  
  
"Do Kyungsoo, that's your name, right?"  
  
Kyungsoo swallows, "Yeah but how-"  
  
"I know a few people," Jongin shrugs. "Curiosity is a curious thing. Edmund Burke once said that curiosity is the most superficial of all affections, that it changes object perpetually, always appearing with giddiness, restlessness and anxiety. Its appetite very sharp but very easily satisfied," he looks up at Kyungsoo, gaze steady. "I became curious, that elevator ride two years ago. Funny though, Burke said curiosity is easily satisfied but here we are, two years later and my curiosity isn't satisfied just yet. In fact, it has just gotten fueled by this rose."  
  
Jongin holds the flower up to eye level, eyeing the thorns and then the petals, from the tip of its stem to the top of its crown. Kyungsoo feels exposed, all of a sudden, like he's the one Jongin is looking over. He feels warm.  
  
Kyungsoo doesn't know what to say, so he decides on something easy, "Edmund Burke, huh? Your major is Psychology but you minor in Contemporary Dance."  
  
"Both useless fields, as the whole world likes to tell me," Jongin laughs, dropping the flower back to his side. "But my father always told me to pick the major that I want. He grew up being told what to do all his life, he wants me to live the life he never got to live.”  
  
Kyungsoo’s father always told him that if he wants something, he should stop and think if he needs it first, if it’s what is best. And if he still wants it the next day, then to think again. And if he still wants it the next week, to think some more. Until the desire goes away, and he picks what is best, rather than what he wants. Kyungsoo knows his father is only looking out for him, he knows it is a great advice in life, but sometimes, Kyungsoo wants too much, that no amount of thinking and convincing himself makes the desire go away.  
  
“But I see I'm not the only one curious,” Jongin continues. “You've been watching me too. Do you know that curiosity makes people come back to its source over and over again? Until their curiosity is satisfied. You aren't satisfied yet either."  
  
It isn't a question, the glint in Jongin's eyes confident and sure. Kyungsoo would normally deny, would normally act like he doesn't care and shrug his shoulders, move on and pretend like one of his vulnerabilities has not just been found out. But nothing about tonight is normal. He's walking home with Kim Jongin, side by side on the sidewalk, talking about  _feelings_. Kyungsoo's feelings. What would normally cause him to run, he finds himself willing to discuss with someone he's just met. Kyungsoo feels uncharacteristically comfortable and open.  
  
"You're not wrong," Kyungsoo affirms, and he shares a smile with Jongin, just as they cross the street to walk the last block to their dormitory building. Jongin reaches a hand to the small of Kyungsoo back when a motorcycle zooms past them. Kyungsoo feels heat blaze beneath his coat where Jongin is touching him. This is another thing, Kyungsoo dislikes skinship and yet he finds himself stepping closer to Jongin, who is yet to remove his hand as they step on the sidewalk once more.  
  
"I'm seldom wrong."  
  
"You can't blame me though. I love watching you dance. I'm a fan, after all."  
  
"I'm a fan as well, actually."  
  
"Of?"  
  
"You."  
  
It's Kyungsoo's turn to falter in his steps. Did he hear Jongin right? Did he hear-  
  
"I've heard you sing. In the communal shower, in the commons kitchen," Jongin stops in his steps and Kyungsoo is forced to stop with him. He can see their building behind Jongin, 306 looming in the background, most lights on as students are pulling an allnighter, no doubt. When Kyungsoo focuses on Jongin though, his breath freezes in his throat, his heart stutters in his ribcage, because Jongin's eyes are piercing and clear, gaze so very sincere. The hollowness in Kyungsoo's chest, the one filled with fear, is beginning to be filled with warmth, foreign yet pleasant. It's a new sensation to falling, the one Kyungsoo has been doing for two years. It's unfamiliar but very much welcome. Kyungsoo feels the corners of his lips curling up into a smile. "You have the most beautiful voice, hyung. Clear and crisp. It has character. I wonder why you never seem to want people to hear it though. Every time you notice someone in the room, you stop singing. I think you should let everyone hear your beautiful voice, you know?"  
  
Kyungsoo can't help it, he laughs and laughs, something tightening in his chest causing his eyes to sting. Jongin just stands there, with the same sincere eyes, patient and waiting.  
  
Last year, Kyungsoo wanted to give up, call it quits and move back home. He failed two major exams and was called to the office by the department head to get it together or he's going to be kicked out of the university's Pre-Med program. Kyungsoo was ready to go. He was ready to face his parent's disappointment and admit he wasn't good enough. But Jongin's recital was in a week and so he chose to stay until after it was over. That quarter, Jongin's song of choice was titled "Hope". Jongin was wearing all white, white pants, white billowy shirt, freshly dyed white hair. When the drums started and the cymbals sounded, Kyungsoo watched Jongin's story of hope in his most desperate of times, watched him crawl and dance on the floor barefoot, watched him twist in the air and paint each line on the stage. Jongin was talking and Kyungsoo was listening.  
  
_"We give up because_  
_the world is cruel,_  
_But don't you ever give up_  
_on yourself._  
_We give up because_  
_We think we are alone_  
_But look around_  
_I am here_  
_ready to catch you_  
_When you fall."_  
  
Kyungsoo was crying by the end of the performance. The very next day, he went to his department head and promised to do more than his best from then on. Kyungsoo has not failed an exam ever since.  
  
Jongin is standing in front of him now, black coat, dark jeans, brown hair. And yet he still sounds like hope.  
  
Free falling. Is this how it feels so near to the ground?  
  
"Do you really think so?" Kyungsoo wants to know, a waver in his voice. He's trying not to sob, he doesn't want to cry. He's already shown so much of himself, he can't afford to give everything away. But then Jongin looks at him, really looks at him, studying his face, the moist in his eyes, and before Kyungsoo knows it, his hand is enveloped in warmth. Kyungsoo looks down to see Jongin holding his right hand, the same smile on Jongin's face. Hope. Kyungsoo feels so very warm. "Do you really think I can sing?"  
  
"I know so," Jongin nods. There's something in his voice that makes Kyungsoo believe him. No teasing. No hidden agenda. No malice. No personal vested interest. Kyungsoo just hears sincerity, genuine and only for him. Kyungsoo just keeps on falling and falling and falling.  
  
"Do you usually hold people's hand you just met so easily?"  
  
"You know the answer to that, hyung," Jongin chuckles, swinging their hand between them gently. Kyungsoo's cheeks warm with affection. They just met, but Kyungsoo has watched this boy for two years, has fallen for him that hot summer August afternoon. He has been curious for so long, and it's not going away anytime soon. Kyungsoo has already gathered enough courage to approach him tonight, might as well go all the way.  
  
"I debated giving you that rose for months," Kyungsoo starts, willing his heart not to break through his ribcage, lest he faint. "I gathered enough courage to try today. Jongin, it's a thank you."  
  
"For?"  
  
"So many things. I can't name them all, but  _just_ – so many things."  
  
Jongin nods in understanding, not pushing, "Okay. I won't ask. But you'll tell me if I need to know, right?"  
  
"I will."  
  
And Kyungsoo will, but not now. Now, he needs his willpower for something else. If only he knew this night would be this important, he would have worn something better for the occasion. But he guesses he could save that for the first date.  
  
"Are you free this Saturday, Kim Jongin?"  
  
Jongin looks behind him at their building, then at their intertwined hands, then back up at Kyungsoo. Then he smiles, but this one is different. It's still just as warm, still just as tender, but this one holds a promise. Kyungsoo knows the answer before he hears it.  
  
"Of course, hyung. For you, I'll always be."  
  
  
  
  
Kyungsoo calls home the next morning and tell his father he’s pursuing a minor in Vocal Music, so he can study singing and do theater acting. His father is against it, as he always has been. He says Kyungsoo can’t possibly juggle two fields at once. That he should focus on the major that will help him in life, rather than drag him down. But Kyungsoo tells his father, for the very first time in his life-  
  
“No, I’m not giving up on my dreams. Not this time.”  
  
When Kyungsoo ends the call, his heart feels so light, lighter than it has ever been. He knows his decision isn’t the easiest one, nor is it the best one. He’ll have to work part time jobs, he’ll lose more sleep, he’ll need to cut back on so many luxuries but it’s alright. The stage, the passion, the desire to share his story and his emotions to so many people–it’s worth it. Jongin has shown him it was possible.  
  
His phone beeps as he’s grabbing his keys, leaving for his morning class. It’s a message from Jongin.  
  
“Hey, waiting for you downstairs. I’ll drive.”  
  
Kyungsoo smiles, dropping his keys back on the counter as he shoulders his backpack, heart soaring in his chest, feeling so light and yet he’s still–  
  
Free falling.  
  
But now, Kyungsoo isn’t afraid anymore, no anxiousness too. Because this time, he knows he’s not falling alone. Jongin is with him, falling for him too.  
  
  
  


 

_“Sometimes, all you had to do was exist  
in order to be someone's saviour.”_

― Keigo Higashino, [The Devotion of Suspect X](http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/8686068-the-devotion-)  
(Kim Jongin's favorite author [1](https://twitter.com/kimjongmelle/status/700535585220354048) [2](http://fy-exo.com/post/93657028342) [3](http://exok-trans.tumblr.com/post/34364120511/website-replies-121026-kais-replies))


End file.
